Chapter 40 - The Trap is Set
Duarte knew he had been caught, but surrender had never been in his nature. His muscles coiled as he sprang forward, twin daggers flashing in the dim torchlight. His target was clear—Lusweti’s throat.
Lusweti met him with steady eyes and sharper steel. His sword cut through the air, intercepting Duarte’s first strike in a shower of sparks. The force of the parry sent a jarring vibration through Duarte’s wrists, but he barely hesitated, twisting to attack from a different angle. He was fast, almost impossibly so, his daggers a blur as he aimed for Lusweti’s ribs, then his side, then his heart.
But Lusweti was disciplined, precise. He met every attack with the same ruthless efficiency he brought to battle. Instead of matching speed with speed, he let Duarte’s aggression overextend him.
A missed lunge. A fraction of a second too long to recover.
Lusweti’s sword shot forward, cutting into Duarte’s shoulder. Not deep, but enough to stagger him. First blood.
Duarte hissed, but before he could react, Rodrigo burst into the fight.
The scarred warrior—Duarte’s second-in-command—moved with brutal force, his curved sword slashing for Lusweti’s exposed side. The king barely turned in time, parrying Rodrigo’s attack while dodging Duarte’s renewed assault.
Now two against one.
Rodrigo swung wide, aiming for Lusweti’s legs, while Duarte struck high. The timing was perfect, but Lusweti countered with a dazzling display of footwork—twisting between their strikes with hair’s breadth precision.
Rodrigo snarled. "We should have just slit your throat when we had the chance."
Lusweti smirked. "You still can’t."